


The Thinking Man’s Television

by punk_rock_yuppie



Series: LOSF Smut Week 2016 [1]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Fantasizing, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Shower Sex, Slight mentions of dysphoria, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Vibrator, Voyeurism, cunninlingus, sex toy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-25 23:27:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7551271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wonders if people usually grimace this much when they’re naked with a vibrator clenched tight in one hand.</p>
<p>He thinks probably not, but he wouldn’t really know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thinking Man’s Television

**Author's Note:**

> four days late but since i'm running the blog i think it's ok lmao here's my contribution to day 1 of legends of superflarrow smut week 2016!! 
> 
> enjoy!

Len grimaces.

He shifts on the sheets, first pulling them up to cover his lower half then kicking them off, then repeating the process a few times over. His body bounces between being too warm with the blanket and too cold without. Not only that, but the back of his neck burns with a blush that tells him he should hide his body for what he’s about to do. At the same time though, his pride is battling against his embarrassment and vying for the option of leaving his body open and exposed.

Len closes his eyes, inhales and exhales slow and deep, then grimaces again.

He wonders if people usually grimace this much when they’re naked with a vibrator clenched tight in one hand.

He thinks probably not, but he wouldn’t really know.

Len sighs and tries to shake the nerves from his skin. It’s just a sex toy—hardly Len’s first, even—and the house is all his own for the time being. No one else is home, and even if they were no one would disturb him in his room, especially not when the door is locked. Granted, even if no one would ever disturb him, knowing other people were in the house would likely quell Len’s arousal. But that’s beside the point, Len reminds himself: no one else is home, and no one is due back for several hours.

_Mick_ is not due back for several hours. That’s the really important thing.

Everyone else in their home—all the Rogues aside from Mick know about Len’s debilitating… _affection_ for Mick Rory. All the other Rogues have likely heard Len muttering Mick’s name under his breath while holed up in his room. Mick never has, though, and Len has no plans of changing that. Not any time soon, at least. No matter how much Lisa tells him that he needs to get over it and just be honest; being honest is not Len’s strong suit.

 

The vibrator feels like an anchor in his hand.

Len groans and squeezes his eyes shut.

Masturbating should not be this difficult, he thinks. He wonders if it’s this difficult for Mick.

Probably not, he figures, given that Mick’s never been self-conscious a day in his life. Mick has never felt inferior or bizarre or distraught for what’s between his legs, not like Len has. Mick has plenty of scars but none of them are like Len’s—none of them are from a drunken father or a ridiculously expensive surgery paid for with ill-gotten gains. Mick has a body that he’s worked hard to maintain while never really having to fret over what others think of him. For as long as Len has known him, Mick has never had problems like Len’s own.

There’s a spark of jealousy when Len pictures Mick naked and hard with a hand curled around his cock. It’s not exactly an irrational fear, but it’s not really rational either. Len knows he’s as much a man as Mick, just as strong and plenty smart. Len knows that being a man isn’t defined by having a penis—but Len still aches for it, sometimes, wishes things had been different starting back when he was a twinkle in his mother’s eye.

After the jealous fades though Len’s skin heats up pleasantly at the thought of Mick getting off. Len keeps his eyes shut and slowly brings the vibrator—discreet, small but not miniscule, a plain blue color—to his clit. Len relaxes as his mind drifts to fantasies: thoughts of Mick under the spray of a boiling hot shower. The water cascading down his scars, the burns on his arms, the faint lines of tattoos that have faded over the years.

Mick would have one hand braced on the dingy tile wall and his other hand curled around his cock. Len wonders what kind of grip Mick would use: tight, or loose? Mick isn’t circumcised—something Len knows from group showers at juvie—and Len shudders at the thought of how sensitive Mick would be when his foreskin is pulled back enough to expose the head of his cock. Len keens quietly at the thought of lapping at the skin, suckling on the head and swallowing the bitter taste of Mick’s precome.

With a quick press of his thumb, the vibrator rumbles to life in Len’s hand against his already sensitive, already swollen clit. It’s more awkward than it used to be before he started testosterone, but no less enticing. His clit is larger than when he was younger and vibrators don’t fit as perfectly along the curve of his body like they used to. The sensations are still good, though, still deep and startling and enough to push him toward the brink.

Len throws an arm over his eyes and loses himself in his fantasy.

In his thoughts, he joins Mick in the shower. All his attention still stays on Mick and Mick’s naked body, but Len imagines the water hitting his back like drops of fire, because Mick keeps the water too warm. Len has always hated how steamed up the bathroom gets, and in his fantasy he can almost feel the steam clogging his throat, heat encasing his skin as the floor of the shower bites against his knees.

In his fantasy, just as he leans forward to take Mick’s cock into his mouth, the whole thought shifts—Len doesn’t know what causes it but it has his adrenaline spiking and lust burning in his groin.

In his fantasy, Mick hauls him up by his arms and presses him against the wall, not gentle but not menacing. In Len’s fantasy, Mick sinks to his knees and pushes Len’s legs apart. Len imagines Mick’s head between his thighs and Mick’s tongue teasing the tip of his clit incessantly, until Len is a writhing mess.

Len presses the vibrator harder against his clit and keeps his body relaxed to feel every shock of pleasure hit his nerves. He presses the vibrator more firmly against his skin and imagines it’s Mick trying to get closer, taste him more, it’s Mick trying to suck his clit and his lips fit perfectly around the swollen skin.

Len gasps and his toes curl in the sheets. He starts to grind his hips against the toy, he rolls his body up in small circles and imagines he’s grinding against Mick’s face, imagines Mick’s spit slicking the way and sticking to Len’s skin.

Len lets out sharp quick breaths as his orgasm starts to build, burning brighter and brighter like a fire at the base of his spine. His rhythm starts to go as he ruts against the vibrator with abandon. His hand starts to hurt from holding it so close, so tight to his body, so desperate to come. Len throws his head back against the pillow and clenches his free hand in a fist so tight his nails dig into his palm.

Moans build up in Len’s chest and bubble forth before he can stop them—

“Mick, Mick, Mick,” he gasps, keens, arches his back in a bow off the bed and practically screams _“Mick!”_

 

A few moments later after his orgasm fades, Len’s whole body relaxes. He lets go of the toy and lets it fall between his legs. He stretches out and sighs in relief. He feels sated and warm and pleasant from his core outward. He scrubs his hands over his face and runs his fingers across his buzzcut hair before finally opening his eyes.

Immediately, his gaze is drawn to his bedroom door: ever so slightly ajar with familiar hazel eyes looking on in awe.

“Mick!” Len snaps as he sits up, scrambling for the sheets he’d kicked away before. He feels a blush burn across his whole body like a forest fire. “What the fuck?” He snaps while dropping Mick’s gaze. He feels indignant and humiliated and looking at Mick is too much right now. He knows he won’t see disgust, not outright disgust anyway. Mick knows about Len’s body the same way Len knows about Mick’s. Len isn’t so sure he won’t see horror, or blatant unpleasant shock.

Len cringes when his bedroom door creaks open and Mick shuffles in. Len only looks up when his bedroom door clicks shut, and he realizes Mick is staring at him intently.

“What the hell, Mick?” Len snaps again. “Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?”

Mick scoffs though the wide-eyed, bewildered look never leaves his face. “Your door didn’t need to be open for me to hear that, Lenny.”

Len knows he’s right. “I—you didn’t have to watch.”

Mick’s already pink skin flushes brighter, just enough for Len to notice. “M’glad I did,” Mick admits. He takes a few tentative steps forward and Len instinctively draws the sheets tighter across his body. His chest is exposed but that’s nothing new; it’s his lower half that Len feels as though he has to hide in this moment. “Lenny,” Mick’s voice is soft.

“What?” Len doesn’t offer the same luxury in his tone. He speaks quick and sharp.

“You—y’always get off screaming my name?” The words are cocky and Mick’s grin is too, but not full of his typical swagger.

Len falters. “So what if I do?” He aims for nonchalant and irritated but he sounds breathless to his own ears.

Mick shrugs off his heavy fireman’s jacket in an instant and reveals a tight, sweat-stained t-shirt clinging to his form. “Well, Lenny,” Mick speaks as if he’s being diplomatic, “if you did, then I’d have to tell y’that I do the same thing.”

Len can’t help it. “You get off screaming your name?”

Mick rolls his eyes in the same moment that he kicks off his already unlaced boots. “Get off screaming _your_ name, Lenny.” Once he’s toed off his socks as well, he moves closer to the bed. “Lisa says we’ve been dancing around each other too much, like a buncha idiots.”

“I seem to recall her mentioning that to me.” Len nods slowly. He shivers and realizes it’s anticipating itching in his skin. Mick is still just out of arm’s reach and Len suddenly wants to yank him onto the bed. Len closes his eyes and breathes deep in a way that’s not unlike earlier, when he’d been trying to focus on just getting off. He can deal with surprises, with quick changes, unexpected results. Especially good ones—this certainly feels like a good one.

“Lenny?”

Len opens his eyes and tilts his head at Mick, coy. “Would you like to hear what I was thinking about?” He drawls as confidently as he can. His voice wavers ever so slightly; there’s a hitch in his words he’s only ever known to be caused by Mick Rory.

 

His nerves finally melt away when Mick practically dives onto the bed with him with an enthusiastic growl.


End file.
